Legato
by Kiri Ame
Summary: In Indigo City, vast crowds flicker and fade, their individual lives as brief and disconnected as solitary musical notes. But there are ties that bring people together, and the music of the city has its own special magic... Human AU, various pairings.
1. Afternoon

**Legato**

A/N – Sorry, horrifically long A/N coming up… Right, this is my first time writing a serious fic (apart from a failed project ages ago), and there are a lot of things I haven't completely figured out yet (plot, pairings apart from Spamano, which hemisphere I'm going to set this story in…), so if anyone has any feedback for me, then that would honestly be appreciated. I need to improve as a writer, and I'm not going to be able to do that without constructive criticism. So please, read and review! I might even become less of a crappy writer if you do!

This is probably a bad idea, and I probably should just stick to writing crack, but this idea has taken over my brain and I really want to try it.

Now for the technical stuff!

_Summary: In Indigo City, vast crowds flicker and fade, their individual lives as brief and disconnected as solitary musical notes. But there are ties that bring people together, and the music of the city has its own special magic..._

_Pairings: Spamano, not sure what else. I'm open to suggestions here._

_Warnings: At least one male/male relationship later, but probably no smut. I can't write smut. Also, human AU, human names used. Added warnings as the plot progresses, for things like violence and character death, which may or may not end up actually happening._

**Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya and the song "Things Between People" belongs to Holly Throsby. I think. **

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><p><strong>Chapter I – Afternoon<strong>

Lovino had been watching the busker for quite some time. He didn't realise he was doing it, of course; he'd only paused to listen for a moment as the man's warm, mellow voice washed over the train station's platform, entwined with warm guitar chords that wormed their way into Lovino's mind and forced his hurrying feet to a halt.

He'd only stopped for a moment, just to catch the next line of the song, but somehow the moment stretched. Gradually, Lovino found himself lowering his briefcase to the ground, leaning against the grimy wall to watch the smiling, dark-haired man as he sang.

Lovino had made up his mind to leave when the song was finished, but he hadn't quite been able to turn away before the busker launched into his next song, seemingly unaware of his one-man audience. Instead, Lovino reached for his wallet hesitantly, taking a ten-dollar note and moving over to the open guitar case. Quickly, he glanced over at the busker, who was staring out over the train tracks as if they held the answer to all of life's questions. Furtively, with an air almost of embarrassment, Lovino dropped the note into the guitar case. It was a lot of money to waste on a busker, and he probably couldn't afford to do so, but it felt like the proper thing to do.

"_And every day feels the same,_" sang the man, his voice laced with a soft, nostalgic tone.

"_And every day feels the same,_"

"_Every day feels the same…_" Slowly, the song faded away, and the man turned to Lovino. Green eyes locked onto startled brown ones, lighting up a little as the busker smiled casually.

"You've been here for a while," he remarked, dropping to his knees to pack the guitar away.

"Are you leaving?" asked Lovino, a little more abruptly than he would have liked. The busker chuckled, and Lovino turned a little red.

"Only for today," he answered. "Good to know that you liked my singing, though. A few more fans like you and I might make it big." He winked, and Lovino rolled his eyes.

"I've just heard those songs somewhere before. That's all," he replied, turning to leave. He'd already stayed here far too long. He took a few steps away before hearing the sound of hurrying footsteps as the busker ran up beside him, swinging the guitar case over his shoulder as he did so.

"Hey! Don't be in such a rush to leave," he cajoled. "It's not often that I get someone listening to me for as long as you did."

"I'm not surprised. Nobody wants to get stalked by a busker," replied Lovino irritably. His unwanted companion laughed.

"Stalker? I was just being friendly," he replied warmly, before holding a hand out. "The name's Antonio, by the way. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Nice to meet you."

"Lovino Vargas," replied Lovino shortly, ignoring the outstretched hand. "I'm sure we'll never see each other again. Goodbye." He walked a little faster, shaking his head. Creepy bastard.

* * *

><p>Natalia brushed through the late-afternoon crowd of people rushing home, shrewd blue eyes darting to and fro as she searched for likely targets. There were a few at this time of day; oblivious businessmen and women, mobile phones held to their ears as they were jostled through the street, one hand over their open handbags, a gesture that undoubtedly gave them a lovely false sense of security. Smoothly, Natalia pushed a strand of long, pale blonde hair out of her face, lightly dipping into the handbag of a passing businesswoman as she did so. Her hand caught a soft, rectangular object, and quickly she drew her hand out, now holding an ornate leather purse. Without any change of expression, she pushed through the crowd, heading for a side alley before stepping into the shadows, a slight frown plastered on her face.<p>

"Where did that receipt _go_?" she muttered, opening the purse and examining its contents.

_Sixty dollars and some spare change. Not bad…_

Quickly, she slipped the cash into a pocket hidden at the top of her apron, smoothing it out carefully before moving back into the crowd. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she let the empty purse slip out of her hand and onto the ground. It wasn't like she had any use for it now, after all.

It was midafternoon; she should be going home soon. It wouldn't be advisable to stay in the area after a successful theft, anyway; she didn't want to draw suspicion to herself.

"Excuse me," called a slightly flustered voice from behind Natalia. She ignored it, continuing on her way.

"Hey! Wait a second!" continued the voice. A hand stretched out towards Natalia's shoulder, and she turned around.

"What is it?" she demanded, glaring at whoever it was who had dared to stop her. The intruder, a tall young man with blonde hair and glasses, held out the purse, blue eyes shining contentedly. Natalia froze.

"You dropped your purse," he informed her in a friendly tone.

"Oh…" said Natalia softly.

_Please-don't-look-inside-please-don't-look-inside-_

"…Thank you," she continued slowly, taking hold of the accessory.

"No problem!" replied the stranger, cheerfully and a little too loudly. Natalia flinched. "Just happy to help!" He flashed Natalia a grin and a thumbs-up before turning and striding back through the crowd, head held high with enthusiasm. Natalia winced internally.

_Thank you for drawing attention to me, mysterious stranger,_ she thought venomously. _How kind of you._ She sighed, and turned to continue her interrupted journey. She'd have to drop the purse in a bin sometime; it might draw suspicion if she let it fall out of her hand twice.

Oh, how she loved being interfered with. Not.

* * *

><p>It was really quite fortunate that Yong Soo had chosen to sit next to Lilli Zwingli.<p>

The Korean boy had only been in the school for five hours, but he had already managed to gain a reputation as being "strange."

This perception of his character was mostly drawn from a number of isolated incidents that had occurred throughout the day, most of which had culminated in the teenager tackling a student or teacher in an overly enthusiastic display of joy and affection.

It wasn't his fault, really. He may have gotten a little excited when another student enquired about the music on the (now confiscated) iPod he had been carrying around that morning, and it was true that he had probably overreacted when a slightly flustered history teacher admitted that, yes, taekwondo really _was_ invented in Korea, but anyone who knew Yong Soo would have been able to explain that he was normally a good kid.

Well, an OK kid.

Well… he meant well, at least.

And after all, Yong Soo really _was_ only trying to be friendly, which is why Lilli found her left ear under a barrage of constant chatter from the new student as he told her what seemed to be every thought he had had since his arrival in Indigo City. Yes, all in all, it was really quite fortunate that Yong Soo had chosen to sit next to Lilli in IT, because a less patient classmate would probably have socked him in the face by now; the tiny teenager, with her doll-like looks and soft-spoken manner, had her own reputation for tolerance.

"It's kind of weird that you get in trouble for hugging people here," the boy added as an afterthought, dark eyes turning slightly puzzled for a moment before shining with renewed cheer. "It kind of reminds me of how my bro acts whenever I hug him! He's really shy about these things."

"I don't really think you're supposed to hug teachers…" Lilli ventured to point out, her wide blue eyes fixated on her computer screen as she tried to keep track of the huge block of programming text scrolling across it. "Actually, I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

"Nah, it's only illegal if they hug you back," replied Yong Soo, waving a hand dismissively. "At least, I think that's right. Anyway, that's a stupid law." There was a pause.

"…Yeah, I guess…" murmured Lilli, sinking deeper into her chair.

"What's your name?" asked Yong Soo abruptly. Lilli frowned.

"You've been talking to me for half an hour and you haven't bothered to ask me that?"

"Hey! I got distracted!" replied the other teenager defensively. "Anyway, what is it? Have I told you my name? I'm Yong Soo Im. Now you have to tell me your name."

"Lilli Zwingli," replied Lilli. "And… you already told me your name before…" Yong Soo blinked.

"Did I?" Lilli nodded, and Yong Soo shrugged, "Well, at least it'll be easier to remember now!" He grinned, and Lilli smiled in return, a lock of short blonde hair drifting across her face as she turned back to the computer screen. A moment later, she could literally _feel_ her neighbour's face as he craned his neck to stare over her shoulder at the screen.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "So _that's_ what we're meant to be doing. Right. Got it!" And with that, he turned back to his own computer, typing furiously away. Lilli stared at him bemusedly.

"I could have told you what we were doing, if you didn't know…" she ventured. Yong Soo shook his head, a stray curl of black hair dancing through the air near his head as he did so.

"It's fine! I can figure things out for myself. I practically _invented_ figuring-stuff-out-for-yourself," he bragged. Lilli glanced at him for another moment, before turning back to her own computer screen.

"OK then…"

Somehow, they managed to pass the rest of the lesson in relative silence, mostly because Yong Soo had gotten bored and ended up browsing a series of wikis relating to Korean dramas. Lilli continued working, glancing over at her neighbour every so often.

He was definitely a little strange, no doubt about it. She just wasn't sure if that was a bad thing or not.

* * *

><p><strong>A Note on the Names:<strong>

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo = Spain.

Lovino Vargas = Romano.

Natalia Arlovskaya = Belarus

Yong Soo Im, Im Yong Soo, whatever order you like to put his name in = S. Korea

Lilli Zwingli = Liechtenstein.


	2. Homecoming

**Legato**

A/N – Another chapter this soon? I must be crazy… Urgh, there's no way I'm going to be able to keep up this pacing… Anyway, everyone, thank you so much for the reviews/alerts/faves! They really mean a lot to me! =^_^= I'm not sure if I can really reply to the reviews without spoiling anything, but I will say this; don't assume too much. :P

_Warnings: Apart from the fact that this story is moving really slowly and will probably continue to do so for a very long time, nothing I can think of in this chapter. Unlessany of my readers happen to have been traumatised by green tea at some point in their childhood. Whichis entirely possible, considering that green tea tastes like pureed fish._

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, nor do I own the Korean drama "My Girlfriend is a Nine-Tailed Fox" that Yong Soo briefly mentions. And I'm not sure I'd admit to it if I did :P**

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><p><strong>Chapter II – Homecoming<strong>

Yong Soo always knew the exact moment when Yao got home.

It wasn't the soft hum of his guardian's car smoothly rolling through the driveway; he never noticed that happening. Nor was it the jingling of the keys in the front door, or the sudden draught of cold, late-night air that seeped through the door as it opened.

No, Yong Soo always knew when Yao was home, because the older man had his own special way of announcing it every time.

"_AGAIN?_ YONG SOO, WHAT ARE THESE SHOES DOING IN THE DOORWAY?"

Yong Soo glanced from his laptop, which was perched on top of the coffee table he had dragged over to the couch that afternoon. In the doorway stood a short man, brown eyes shadowed with tiredness, dark ponytail flicking as he irritably kicked Yong Soo's discarded trainers out of the doorway. Yao Wang was twenty-nine, but could have passed for a boy in his late teens; the rather high-pitched tone of exasperation he tended to adopt around his ward really didn't help, either.

"Hey Yao!" called Yong Soo, bounding over to the doorway and enveloping the older man in a bone-crushing hug.

"Don't 'hey Yao' me, I tell you every time not to leave your shoes there," came the muffled reply. "Do you do this in your parents' house? Don't answer that." He brushed through the doorway, rolling his eyes a little as he saw the altered state of the living room furniture. "The number of times I've told you not to do that, either…" he muttered.

"Do you want any tea?" the teenager offered, heading towards the kitchen nearby. Yao's eyes softened a little.

"That would be nice," he admitted. "Thank you."

"No problem!" came the jovial reply from the next room. Yao smiled, and sunk onto the couch, glancing at his watch wearily.

The frown returned.

"Why are you still up?" he asked, a little disapprovingly. "It's one am. Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"I was waiting for you to get home," called Yong Soo, poking his head around the arch that joined the kitchen and living room.

"I've told you not to do that. You never get up in the morning as it is, and I'm always home late. Why do you always do this?"

"Well, I had study to do as well," replied Yong Soo a little too quickly. Yao slid across and glanced at the laptop screen.

"Ah, I see," he replied sarcastically. "Very important study for your assignment on…" he paused, reading the screen carefully. "_'…My Girlfriend Is a Nine-Tailed Fox.'_ Fascinating."

"I was taking a short break!" Yong Soo protested as he walked out, a cup of green tea carefully balanced in his hands. He placed it on the coffee table.

"Thank you," Yao repeated wearily, picking up the cup and taking a sip. "Now, shut that computer down and go to sleep. Please."

"What, are you worried about me, then?" asked Yong Soo, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he leant over the laptop and logged off. Yao rolled his eyes.

"Don't get your hopes up," he replied, shooing the teenager away. "I just don't want your parents to kill me if you die of sleep deprivation in my house." Yong Soo left the room, and Yao sighed, staring into his cup of tea in the vague hope that it might tell him how to handle his impossible housemate. So far, there wasn't any reply. He decided to try again.

_How can I make him respect me?_ Yao asked the teacup silently. The answer remained elusive, probably buried somewhere in the cloudy green liquid. Yao shook his head. He shouldn't have agreed to take care of Yong Soo, but the fact still remained that he _had_. Now the teenager was his responsibility, and he'd just have to deal with it.

With a resigned sigh, Yao took another sip of tea, smiling a little bit as he tasted the perfect balance of tea leaves and hot water.

He did have to admit, living with Yong Soo had a couple of advantages.

* * *

><p>Lovino marched through the door of the small, cramped apartment he was supposedly meant to call home, ignoring the cheerful greetings of his grandfather as he moved towards the bedroom he shared with his brother.<p>

Twenty years old and still living with his family. There was something sad about that, he supposed, but at least it was practical. It wasn't like either he or his brother had enough money to live separately.

"Loviiiiiiiiiiii!" called a voice from the next room. Lovino winced, bracing himself for impact as his younger twin barrelled straight for him. One begrudged hug and a light kiss on the cheek later, and Lovino managed to extract himself from his brother's welcome.

"Hi, Feliciano," he said resignedly, appraising his brother with an irritated eye. Feliciano was a fraction shorter than Lovino, his hair was a shade lighter, and he suffered from the unfortunate affliction of a dopey smile permanently attached to his face, but otherwise there really wasn't much to distinguish the two brothers. They both had the same light olive skin and brown eyes, slightly-curled hair and similar features; features that, in Feliciano's case, seemed to be currently splotched with paint.

_My brother, the brilliant starving artist. Hooray._

"How was your day?" babbled Feliciano, as Lovino busily inspected his shirt for any signs of transferred paint. "I've nearly finished that painting for the exhibition," he continued, not bothering to wait for the reply that Lovino probably wouldn't have given him. "Grandpa says it's a masterpiece, but he always says that about my artwork. I want you to tell me what you think!"

"I'm not the talented one, you idiot," Lovino replied shortly. "I don't care about art; it's not any of my damn business." He pushed Feliciano out of the way and stepped into his room, slamming the door behind him. Feliciano blinked.

"Lovi, what's wroooooong?" he called in a sing-song voice, trying to peer through the keyhole.

"What are you- I'm getting changed, you little bastard! Stop looking through the keyhole!"

"Waah!" Quickly, Feliciano jumped away from the door. "I'm sorry! Don't hurt me!" A few moments later, Lovino walked out again, dressed in a clean T-shirt and jeans. Feliciano was still standing near the door.

"I still haven't showed you my painting," he informed his twin, pulling him over to the easel that stood by the window. "Come on! You have to see it!"

"I don't care about your damn painting! I've been working all day and I-" He stopped, staring at the canvas in front of him. It truly was a stunning sight; a pastoral scene, radiating warmth and serenity from what seemed to be every single drop of paint that went into it. Lovino nodded and turned away a little irritably. Trust Feliciano to create something like _that_ without a second thought.

"It seems OK to me," he confirmed grudgingly. Feliciano beamed.

"Really? You think so? That's great!"

"I didn't say it was anything special," muttered Lovino, grabbing the remote control from the cluttered coffee table. "Can you shut up now? I want to watch TV."

"Don't pay any attention to your brother, Feliciano," called a voice from the corner of the room. Gaius Vargas looked up from the book he held in his hands, his warm, laugh-line-creased eyes fixed fondly on his favourite grandchild. The man was in his early sixties, and wore his age well. "He's just in a bad mood. He probably got rejected by some girl today or something." Lovino pointedly ignored his grandfather, throwing himself down onto the couch and idly shoving a stack of magazines off the coffee table with one sock-clad foot.

"Feet off the table, Lovino. You're an adult."

"And you're both overgrown babies," grumbled Lovino. "So what did you do all day, Grandpa? Flirted with high school girls? Got in a fight with one of the other fossils at bingo? Or did you just sit here doting on Squinty the Artist while I did all the work _again_?" He glared at Feliciano, who happened to be living up to Lovino's new nickname, eyes closed as he leaned back into a sunbeam that was filtering past one of the horrifically ugly leopard-print curtains Gaius insisted on keeping.

"You really _are_ in a bad mood, aren't you?" he said, a little bit more gently than his usual boisterous tone. "Go on. What happened today?" Lovino fumed.

"What do you think happened? The same shit that _always_ happens. I go to university half the day trying to make a life for myself because I didn't happen to be born with the sun shining out of my arse like some people-" he glared at his brother before continuing, "-I work my butt off the other half trying to keep all of us alive because you've decided to become decrepit, and then get stalked by a busker on my way home."

"You get stalked by buskers every day?" asked Feliciano curiously.

"No!" snapped Lovino.

"But you said-"

"Ignore that last part," Lovino said exasperatedly, as a warm hand clapped onto his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it too much," Gaius told him, grinning. "I'm sure the busker will leave you alone once he realises how cranky you are." Lovino got to his feet, silently debating the ethics of punching his own grandfather in the face before turning and stalking back into his bedroom with a door-slam that resounded across the entire apartment.

"He didn't inherit my sense of humour, at least," Gaius said, looking supremely unfazed as he watched Lovino leave the room.

* * *

><p>Natalia carefully treaded up the sticky, carpeted stairs, her eyes fixed on the peeling wallpaper as she tried to ignore the way the covered-up wooden steps creaked under her feet. They hadn't caved in yet, but that was no guarantee of anything. Natalia was only a small scrap of a person, but even her miniscule weight might be enough to break the ancient staircase.<p>

Fortunately, and more than a little surprisingly, she made it to the landing without causing any property damage. Her eyes skittered across the landing, automatically falling to rest on a thick door towards her left, the number "24" clinging to its surface in all its tarnished, cheap bronze glory. She moved over to the door and knocked cautiously, before taking a step back and speaking loudly and clearly.

"Ivan? Are you home? It's me…" The door swung open, and a voluptuous woman with short, pale blonde hair smiled at Natalia from the other side.

"Natasha!" she called, instantly reverting to the diminutive form of Natalia's name as she ushered the younger girl inside. "I'm sorry, my dear… Ivan isn't home yet, but I'm expecting him back any minute now. Sit down, sit down! Are you hungry?" Natalia shook her head, obediently stepping into the tiny living area and sitting down in a rickety old armchair.

"I'm fine, Katyusha," she told her cousin a little exasperatedly. Katyusha was the kindest person she knew, but she could be a little overbearing at times. "Here. I made a fair bit today; we should be able to pay the rent this week." She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her day's earnings; about one hundred and twenty dollars in cash. Katyusha nodded and accepted the money, dropping it into a bowl balanced on a nearby table, her mouth curling into a slightly disapproving grimace as she did so.

"Natasha-"

"I thought we agreed you weren't going to ask this any more," Natalia cut in sharply. "I earn enough to pay my keep, and you and Ivan do the same. We're even." Katyusha nodded sadly, glancing down at her battered shoes.

"…I'm sorry," she murmured. "I just wish you'd at least try to get a different sort of job." Natalia turned away.

"Where is Ivan, anyway?" she continued irritably. "Shouldn't he be back by now? I wanted to see him…"

"He works very hard," Katyusha replied softly, easing herself into the second of the room's three chairs. "I'm sure he'll be back any minute."

"He should be back now!" Natalia replied harshly. "He shouldn't be making me worry about him!"

"He'll be back soon," Katyusha repeated. "Don't be so impatient." Natalia shook her head, mouth set in a thin, hard line as she reached up and pulled the navy-blue bow from her hair.

"You just don't care about him the way I do," she accused. "He's your own brother and you're not even worried about him."

"It's not even five in the afternoon. You're being ridiculous," Katyusha said firmly. "I'm sure he's fine." She pushed a duster into Natalia's hands. "Here. Since you're home, you might as well help me do some cleaning." She paused. "…I'm sure Ivan will appreciate your hard work," she added/ Natalia instantly jumped to her feet.

"Of course," she replied, eyes blazing with determination as she got to work. Katyusha smiled. It was easy enough to get help from Natalia, if you knew what to say to the girl.

* * *

><p><strong>A<strong>**Another Note on the Names:**

Yao Wang = China

Gaius Vargas = Rome

Feliciano Vargas =North Italy

Katyusha (surname Braginskaya) = Ukraine

Ivan (surname Braginsky) = Russia


	3. The Dreamers

**Legato**

A/N – Hmm, I'm managing to keep up the progress with this fic fairly well… I don't believe that will last very long, though. Also, I'm experimenting with pairings. It's early days yet, but let me know what you think! ^_^

_Warnings: Implied FrUK, Ivan's creepiness, and shameless ripping off of James Bond movies._

**Disclaimer: Yeah, you know the drill.**

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><p><strong>Chapter III – The Dreamers<strong>

Ivan stood on the edge of the empty construction site, still wearing his bright orange work vest as he stared out across the street. He'd been waiting there for over an hour, his violet eyes steadily clouding over with a mixture of desperation and annoyance as he stood utterly still.

The sound of laughter drifted down the street, and Ivan turned his head sharply. A young man darted out from around the corner, his blonde, shoulder-length hair whipping in the breeze as he tugged at the hand of another figure; a brown-haired man, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, a rather gentle smiled fixed on his face as he watched his friend laughing. Ivan hissed under his breath.

_He's with the little bird again,_ he thought to himself, glaring at the blonde man from across the street. Neither of the two seemed to notice Ivan; the brown-haired man was too busy listening to his friend as he talked. To Ivan, it seemed that this was all the blonde man could do; talk. He seemed utterly useless, but his companion didn't seem to recognise that. Every day, the brown-haired man walked past this way; every day, that irritating _bimbo_ was with him.

Unconsciously, Ivan began to whisper under his breath, his eyes fixated on the pair as they slipped away down the street.

"_Kolkolkolkolkolkolkolkolkol…_" he murmured, eyes widening in panic as they began to disappear from sight. He took a quick step forward, and then another, determined not to lose the brown-haired man; today, today he had promised himself he would stay and-

Somewhere nearby, church bells began to chime, announcing to the world that it was five pm. Ivan's face turned pale as he abruptly stopped in his tracks, vividly recalling the last time he had been out this late.

Natalia was going to kill him if he waited any longer. He turned, walking quickly away in the opposite direction, mouth dry as he tried not to imagine his cousin's reaction when he returned home late.

The brown-haired man would have to wait. Nothing was worth risking _her_ ire.

* * *

><p>"And just what am I going to do with you, my pretty?" the man asked softly, dark eyes gleaming as he placed one hand on his ruggedly stubbled chin and leaned down to stare into his captive's face. His prisoner, a beautiful, dark-haired woman in her early twenties, spat in his face.<p>

"You're going to let me go this _instant_," she said venomously, her voice laced with a slight accent; Chinese, perhaps? The man chuckled.

"Oh, no, I don't believe I will," he answered lazily, wiping his face with a handkerchief. "That was disgusting, by the way. You're not a particularly well-bred young lady, are you?"

"I'll give you 'well-bred,' you poisonous-"

"Are you really in a position to make threats?" cut in her captor. "Because unless you are, you probably shouldn't finish that sentence." He got up, and moved around to the back of the woman's chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, glaring at him, but he remained supremely unperturbed. "Now, let's make this quick. I know that _you_ know where Agent 365 is, and you know that you will not live very long if you do not tell me."

"Then I guess I'm about to die," retorted the woman.

"Don't make this difficult," replied the man, a dangerous edge slipping into his voice. There was an audible click as he loaded a gun, pressing it against the woman's temple. "Tell me where he is." There was a crashing sound nearby as the huge window nearby shattered, and a man swooped through the cavity left behind, somehow managing to land in a perfect crouch, his tuxedo completely undamaged by the broken glass or the enormous leap he must have taken.

"Oh, I think I may be able to find him for you," the newcomer said offhandedly, raising a revolver and aiming at the other man, red eyes gleaming. "Not that it'll make much difference."

"Do you really want to kill her?" his enemy said sharply, glancing down at his captive. "Granted, I suppose you could take me down in one shot from this range, but there is absolutely no guarantee that I won't survive long enough to blow _her_ brains out, and you had better believe that I will do it." He grinned. "It's game over, 365. Welcome to my little party."

"Cut!" called a voice from nearby as a thin man in his mid-forties strolled up to the group. "That was good, guys. Gilbert, that entry was awesome. Don't change it. Mei, we might need a little more raw hatred from you; remember, this guy is trying to make you betray your love interest. You're not just going to be _angry_ about it; you're going to be completely enraged! Sadik, try to be a little bit more menacing. You're cultured and polite, yes, but you're still a villain, and you're not just taking her out for tea. You have her tied to a chair. That's meant to be kind of intimidating." The director paused, before nodding. "Right. Everyone take a break for now. I think we all need to eat." Gilbert smirked, smoothing back his white-blonde hair casually.

"Of course the entry was awesome," he replied. "Awesome is my middle name."

"Do you even _have_ a middle name?" Mei asked, stretching her arms luxuriously as she extracted herself from the ropes binding her.

"Hey, it is!" Gilbert counted. "Look it up on Facebook; Gilbert 'Awesome' Beilschmidt. Half the fake profiles have that as my middle name, too."

"That's because you're an arrogant snot," countered Sadik, only half-jokingly. Gilbert bowed mockingly.

"The one and only," he replied, before moving off the main set. "Hey! Hungry star coming through! Where's the food?"

"There are sandwiches right there," replied one of the camerawomen, rolling her eyes as she pointed towards a table piled with food.

"Thanks," grinned Gilbert, moving over to the table and wiping a few sandwiches. He bit into one, silently congratulating himself on a great morning's shooting.

_I was so awesome today…_ he told himself, polishing off the first sandwich and moving onto the second. The movie was going to be a huge hit; he could already tell. Gilbert was already fairly well-known as an actor, but this would be the catapult launching him into superstar-dom, that coveted level of fame where a man could do whatever the hell he wanted and still get allowed into nightclubs.

And then his life really would get awesome.

* * *

><p>The Champagne Slinky was a rather vague establishment, a narrow, tall building nestled in a poorer section of the city between a pharmacy and a cinema. The proprietors never seemed to have decided whether it was to be a café, a bar, a restaurant or something completely different, and had ended up settling on a mixture of all of these things, complete with irregular opening hours and a small but fanatically devoted group of regular customers. Antonio had been working here for what seemed to be forever, waiting tables, cooking, cleaning and occasionally entertaining the patrons. It was more of a home to him than the tiny, dingy apartment he lived in, and he spent more time there than anywhere else.<p>

At the moment, though, it also happened to be virtually empty. Emma, the manager of the Champagne Slinky and Antonio's sole full-time co-worker, moved from table to table, honey-blonde head bent over as she wiped down the furniture, while Antonio slowly made his way around the room with a mop and bucket of warm water. Tolys, the university student who worked part-time at the Slinky, was somewhere in the kitchen washing up.

"So are we actually closed?" asked Antonio, dipping his mop back into the bucket. Emma glanced at her watch.

"Yeah. It's a quarter to midnight. I don't think we'll be getting any more customers."

"Slow day, then?" Antonio asked. Emma shrugged.

"Mostly. Lunchtime was hectic, though. I'm glad I hired Matthew."

"Who?"

"My roommate. He's in university, and he told me he needed a part-time job, so I said he could work here." Emma smiled. "He definitely earned his pay this afternoon. The boy's a pretty good cook, even if he's a little bit too shy to serve people."

"Does this mean I'm not allowed to go out busking in the afternoons anymore?" Antonio asked.

"Of course not!" replied Emma quickly. "No, I'll be fine without you, even if it _does_ stay busy. Don't worry about it." She paused. "How's the busking going, anyway? Are you famous yet?"

"Well, there was one guy who watched me for a fair while," Antonio responded. "That's a good sign, right?" Emma laughed, her green eyes dancing with amusement.

"I'm sure it is," she replied. "If I don't watch my back, I'm going to lose my favourite employee, aren't I?" There was a tapping sound at the front door.

"Emma?" called a deep voice from outside. "Matthew? Antonio?" Antonio blinked.

"Francis?" he called to the man outside the door. "Is that you?"

"The one and only," the voice replied with a hint of weariness. "Can I come in?"

"Well, seeing as you own this place…" murmured Emma, pulling the door open. A man with long, wavy blonde hair stepped into the room, his expensive shirt sporting a large, red wine-stain.

"What happened to you?" asked Antonio immediately, staring at the stain on his friend's shirt.

"Have you been fighting with Arthur again?" guessed Emma, wandering over to the bar.

"He's a madman," groaned Francis, draping himself over a chair rather dramatically. "I swear there is no reasoning with him. He kicked me out."

"So you decided to crash here again?" asked Emma. Francis looked up at her with pleading blue eyes.

"Take pity on me, Emma. I can't go back home tonight, Arthur will murder me. I broke one of his figurines." Emma and Antonio both winced. They both knew how much Francis' partner loved his collection of porcelain ornaments. Antonio gulped, before hesitantly posing a new question.

"Which one?" Francis shook his head hopelessly.

'The unicorn on the far left." There was a moment of silence, before Emma got to her feet, moving over to the bar.

"You know, I don't think I've ever met anyone else with a landlord who crashed on their couch every other night," she called, rummaging through the fridge underneath. "If you don't end up here, you'll be at Antonio's apartment, which, if I recall correctly-" She got back to her feet, retrieving a bottle of white wine from the fridge "- _you_ also own." She pulled out the cork, smoothly pouring the liquid into a clean wineglass. "Since you pretty much own half the city, don't you think it would be a good idea to get your own house, instead of just moving in and out of your friends' houses all the time?" Francis opened his mouth to reply as a young man with brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail emerged from the kitchen.

"I'm off home now," he told Emma, who nodded.

"Right. Goodnight, Tolys," she said cheerfully. Tolys nodded, murmuring a polite goodbye to everyone present before moving over to the front door and slipping out into the night. Emma walked over to the table Francis was sitting at, carrying the wine glass.

"Here," she said, placing the glass in front of him. "You look like you need a drink."

"Thank you very much," answered Francis sincerely, sipping quietly at the wine before waving to a shadow that had appeared in a doorway at the back of the Slinky. "Did we wake you up, Matthew?" Silently, the shadow skittered forward, revealing itself to be a young man dressed in pale blue pyjamas, his soft blonde hair a little messy with sleep and a pair of glasses perched haphazardly on his rather delicate nose.

"I… um… Hello," he stuttered in a tiny voice, shrinking back a little he felt three sets of eyes turn towards him. "Um… actually…" he paused. "Yes, you did… These walls are really thin… And I was kind of wondering… Um… Are you almost finished now?" He blinked, and quickly began to speak again. "It's fine if you're not, though! I don't want to cause trouble; I just thought that maybe it would be easier… for me to sleep… if you… kept it down? Just a bit?" There was a moment of silence as the rest of the group tried to figure out if he had finished speaking. "Never mind!" Matthew back-pedalled hastily. "I-It's fine. I can cope with the noise. I'll just… go back upstairs now…" He retreated into the doorway and disappeared from sight as Francis got to his feet.

"If you want to stay-" he paused, before shrugging. "Suit yourself, then."

"Oh! That's right!" called Emma suddenly, spinning to point at Antonio. "Antonio, Roderich called this afternoon. He said he wanted to speak to you about something; he wants you to go over to his house on Saturday." Antonio blinked.

"Sure, but… why?" he asked. Emma shrugged.

"I have absolutely no idea."

"I'll go with you," Francis offered, smiling a little deviously. "It's been a while since I've spoken to Roderich…"

"Leave the poor guy alone," chided Emma, nudging Francis' shoulder. "The last time you spoke to him, he thought you were trying to seduce him."

"It is not my fault if he has a dirty mind," Francis said loftily. Emma laughed.

"Yep, that must be it. They don't get much more dirty-minded than that Roderich." Francis winked.

"Well, I may have influenced him a little," he conceded. Nearby, Antonio got to his feet.

"I'm off home now, too," he decided, glancing at Francis. "Are you going to come with me, or…?"

"I think I'll stay here," Francis replied, idly drawing circles on the top of his wineglass. "I really don't feel like going anywhere again tonight." Antonio stood still for a moment, before shrugging.

"OK, then. Night, everyone."

"Night, Antonio," responded Emma.

"Good night," added Francis. Antonio headed towards the door, pulling it open as he wandered out into the warm summer night. The door closed behind him with a soft thud just as the watch on his hand ticked over to midnight; the end of another perfectly ordinary day.

* * *

><p><strong>Another Note on the Names:<strong>

Gilbert Beilschmidt – Prussia

Mei (Wang) – Taiwan

Sadik (Adneen) – Turkey

Emma (Janssen) – Belgium

Tolys (Laurinaitis) – Lithuania

Francis (Bonnefoy) – France

Roderich (Edelstein) - Austria


	4. Conversations

**Legato**

A/N – Still updating on time? What is this madness? *ahem* Um… anyway… there were a lot of comments I came up with relating to this chapter, but I'll leave it at three things:

1) Long chapter is long... sorry.

2) Thirteen alerts and five faves makes me very happy. Barely any reviews makes me kind of sad…

3) I'm not really happy with this chapter's quality, but I need to get used to meeting my deadlines so I'm posting it anyway.

_Warnings: A bit of swearing and Beatles music. Although how one could be offended by something as epic as the Beatles is beyond me. Still, I suppose it could happen. :P_

**Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, and "From Me to You" belongs to the Beatles.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter IV - Conversations<strong>

"Hey," called a voice from somewhere near Lilli's shoulder. She blinked, lifting her schoolbag as she turned to glance at whoever had spoken. Yong Soo stood before her, a slightly manic grin on his face as he rocked back and forth on his feet.

"Hi-" began Lilli uncertainly, before being cut off as Yong Soo began to talk.

"So, since you talked to me in IT class yesterday afternoon, and since you seem really nice, and since I kind of don't have anyone else to sit with at lunch, I'm going to sit with you today," he informed her. Lilli hesitated for a moment, thrown a little bit off-guard by the Korean boy's assertive way of phrasing the request, before shrugging.

"Sure… I guess I'm OK with that," she murmured. "Yeah, you can sit with me and my friends."

"Wait, you have _friends_?" blurted Yong Soo. Lilli stared at him, rendered speechless for the second time in as many seconds.

"Um… yeah…" she managed to reply at last. "I kind of thought most people did…"

"I don't," Yong Soo replied casually, before pausing. "…Well, I _do_, but most of them don't go to this school, and the only one who does is kind of ignoring me right now." He watched Lilli as she began to walk away from the port racks, and fell in step beside her, a dark curl of hair bobbing in time with his footsteps.

"Why is your friend ignoring you?" Lilli ventured to ask as they walked. Yong Soo shrugged.

"I don't know. He just does that sometimes. He's kind of quiet." He peered at Lilli. "You're really quiet, too. Are you going to start ignoring me? Because it's fine if you are. I'm Korean, I can handle it. Being ignored was invented in Korea!"

"I don't think being ignored could have been _invented_," replied Lilli thoughtfully. "It's more the kind of thing that just… happens in a lot of different places at once."

"Most of those places would have been in Korea," Yong Soo insisted, glancing up ahead to the courtyard dotted with large picnic tables. At the tables, students sat, chatting, eating and otherwise enjoying their lunch break. "So, where are your friends?" he asked. Lilli pointed up ahead to a table where two boys sat.

"There!" she called, waving to them as she approached. The boys looked up at her and waved in return, each wearing the exact same deadpan expression. Aside from having the same look on their faces, Lilli's friends were both rather short for their ages; however, while one boy had silvery blonde hair and grey eyes, the other had straight, dark hair and eyes. At present, the latter boy was staring at Yong Soo, thick, dark eyebrows furrowed in a slight scowl. Meanwhile, the object of his gaze burst into a broad grin and rushed forward.

"Jia Long!" he called, attempting to hug the startled teenager.

"Don't-" began the other boy, before being cut off by Yong Soo's display of affection. "Hey- you- let go!"

"So… I'm guessing you know each other, then?" Lilli asked. Yong Soo nodded.

"Jia Long's my bro," he said cheerily, slinging an arm around his mortified friend. Jia Long remained silent, while the silver-haired boy cleared his throat.

"...Who are you?" he asked in a soft, rather pleasant voice.

"Emil, meet Yong Soo," replied Jia Long flatly. "Yong Soo, Emil."

"Does this mean you've stopped ignoring me?" asked Yong Soo. Jia Long shrugged.

"I don't have much choice, right?"

"Sweet!" crowed Yong Soo, dropping his bag on the table and sliding onto the seat.

"So does this mean you're Jia Long's crazy family friend?" Emil asked offhandedly.

"Yep," confirmed Jia Long. Yong Soo beamed.

"Really? You talk to other people about me?"

"Shut up."

"Haha!" exclaimed Yong Soo. "I knew you loved me deep down!"

"Lilli, why did you have to bring him here?" demanded Jia Long irritably. Lilli hid a smile as she sat down next to Emil.

"You're just as strange as he is," she pointed out. "Just not as loud about it." There was a moment of silence as the three boys contemplated these words.

Eventually, a general consensus was reached, and Emil spoke up.

"That's a good point."

"…Shut up."

Lilli and Emil both laughed. Something shifted imperceptibly within the conversation, and, unconsciously, the group moved a little closer to Yong Soo.

There was no denying that the Korean boy was strange, but for all his eccentricities, he'd been accepted.

* * *

><p>In the middle of a quiet suburban street stood a little house with a dark blue roof. It was a rather nice house; small, but comfortable and pretty, with a neat little garden decorating its front. That was important, Feliciano decided as he wandered up the path. If he ever got his own house, he'd want a garden as well. He'd grow his own vegetables and make pasta sauce.<p>

It was at that moment that the door swung open, and a face framed by light brown curls emerged from the inside of the house, accompanied by the faint sound of piano music. Feliciano waved, and the face broke out into a smile.

"Feli!" called the young woman warmly, stepping out onto the doorstep. "I thought I heard your car outside."

"Morning, Elisa," chirped Feliciano, bounding up the rest of the pathway and greeting his old friend with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Elisabeta returned the favour, green eyes lighting up with a cheerful welcome as she led Feliciano inside. The sound of music grew louder, and a dark-haired man glanced up from a piano squeezed into the front of the room, sunlight flashing off his glasses as he nodded in acknowledgement. His fingers continued to fly across the keys, unhindered by the momentary distraction as his violet eyes returned to the music. Feliciano and Elisabeta stood in silence for a moment, entranced by the skilful, soulful melody the pianist created, before, with a slight flourish, he ended the song and turned around.

"Good morning, Feliciano," he said calmly.

"Hey Roderich!" responded Feliciano brightly, moving forward to greet the musician the same way he had greeted Elisabeta. Roderich rolled his eyes slightly, but endured the greeting. There was a scuffling sound nearby as a head of silky blonde hair swung around the edge of the doorway.

"Hey, you finally got here!" the man exclaimed, moving around the doorway and greeting Feliciano with yet another kiss on the cheek. "We thought you'd, like, killed your car or something." He turned to Elisabeta. "So, have you shown him the ring yet?" he demanded. Elisabeta shook her head, and he tutted.

"_Elisa-_"

"Yes, Feliks?" The man shook his head.

"You're totally hopeless. Show Feli the ring! Show him now!"

"Yes, _mother_," replied Elisabeta with mock exasperation. She held out her left hand, and Feliciano peered at it. A clear green stone sat in the centre of a gold band, surrounded by a scattering of tiny diamonds. It wasn't the most ostentatious engagement ring ever, but it was pretty, stylish and very tasteful. Feliciano beamed.

"That's so pretty!" he exclaimed. Elisa smiled a little embarrassedly.

"I guess you can thank Roderich for that," she answered, glancing at her fiancée, who shrugged, clearly off in his own little world.

"I'm glad you like it," he replied absentmindedly. The moment of ring fever having passed, Feliks turned back to Elisabeta and began to interrogate her.

"So, have you got, like, any idea what kind of dress you want?" he began. Elisa shook her head.

"Isn't that what I have you for?" she asked. Feliks sighed dramatically.

'Honey, I can't do everything for you," he told her. "Trust me, you _will_ look totally gorgeous on the day, but it's, like, _your_ wedding! You need to tell me what sort of gorgeous you're going for. I'm not, like, psychic."

"Is Feliks going to make your dress, then?" Feliciano asked. Elisabeta nodded.

"You agreed to take care of the catering, and Feliks is going to make the dress, which only leaves…" she paused.

"Guests, venue, music, reception-" began Feliks, counting on his hands.

"All right, we get the idea," Elisabeta said hurriedly, cutting him off with a nervous laugh. "Sometimes I think getting married is more trouble than it's worth."

"Don't worry about it," Feliks reassured her, inspecting the sparkling green polish on his fingernails with a critical eye. "You'll have us to help you, and we're going to do, like, everything we can." Feliciano nodded in agreement, and Elisa smiled.

"I should probably be even more worried now," she joked. "I'm not sure I can rely on you two after the whole pizza beret thing."

"Oh, we all know you looked fabulous that day," said Feliks dismissively. "It was fresh. Unconventional."

"Delicious, too!" added Feliciano.

"I still can't believe you managed to rope me into that," replied Elisabeta, shaking her head.

"It was rather… surprising…" murmured Roderich from the corner of the room. Feliks smirked.

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" he asked teasingly, before receiving a gentle punch to the shoulder from Elisabeta.

"Mind your own business," she chided. Feliks poked out his tongue while Feliciano looked on, confused.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," the others replied in unison. Elisabeta swatted at Feliks and Feliciano lazily before continuing to speak.

"Anyway, enough chit-chat, you two. Stop distracting me. I invited you here for a reason, remember? You have to help me keep my wedding from turning into a train-wreck." Instantly, Feliks' demeanour became serious and businesslike as he began to discuss details of the wedding with Elisa, aided by the occasional moment of vague input from Feliciano. Roderich interjected here and there to explain something or offer an opinion before returning to annotating his music, scribbling notes on the page in light lead pencil as he half-listened to the discussion.

And the day wore on.

* * *

><p>Lovino really hadn't meant to stop that afternoon.<p>

He'd stepped off the train and instantly seen Antonio the busker standing in the corner of the station, strumming his guitar with a rather dazed smile on his face. With a slight shake of his head, Lovino had very carefully moved towards the corner. Not because he wanted to listen, but because the quickest way off the platform was in that general direction, and he was kind of keen to get home as soon as possible.

And he wouldn't have stopped at all, but he noticed that his left shoe was a little loose, which of course meant that he had to stop and tie the laces again, even though,_ technically_, one could argue that they weren't exactly undone in the first place.

Even that wouldn't have prevented him from moving eventually, but then the busker had the audacity to start singing a Beatles song. And, as anyone who had met Gaius Vargas could tell you, the man had, by mercilessly playing records and singing along to them in his deep, tuneful voice, conditioned both his grandsons from early childhood to be absolutely immobilised by a select (and rather large) number of bands, musicians and songs.

Among which the Beatles happened to feature prominently.

And so it was that Lovino found himself glued to the spot, staring intently at the busker as he continued with his irritatingly catchy rendition of "_From Me to You_."

"_If there's anything that you want,_

_If there's anything I can do, _

_Just call on me and I'll send it along, _

_With love, from me to you…"_

Lovino wasn't exactly sure how the man had managed to find out his weakness, but he was sure he had done it on purpose. He'd probably stalked Lovino home and interrogated his grandfather or something, just so Lovino would give him another ten dollars.

What Antonio didn't know, however, was that Lovino had already thwarted him. He had only bought just enough money for the train today; all he had left was his credit card and a two-dollar coin…

…No. No way. He was _not_ going to waste his final two dollars on a fucking _busker_.

"_I've got everything that you want_," sang Antonio coaxingly.

"_Like a heart that's oh so true…_

_So call on me, and I'll send it along,_

_With love, from me, to you."_ With that, his eyes turned to Lovino, and he smiled slightly as he continued to sing.

"_I've got arms that long to hold you,_

_And keep you by my side…_"

…Oh, God _damn _it. Reluctantly, Lovino dug around in his pocket, managing to extract the two-dollar coin.

"_I've got lips that long to kiss you,_

_And keep you satisfieeeeed!"_ Instantly, Lovino froze, glancing up at Antonio, who continued to watch him with vague interest as the song continued, piercing green eyes locked on Lovino's face.

_What the- stop looking at me like that, you bastard! What the hell is your problem, anyway?_

Quickly, Lovino dropped the coin into the guitar case, trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking. Why were his hands shaking, anyway? It was just a song. He was being a little ridiculous right now. Mentally, Lovino slapped himself. He was imagining things.

He could've sworn that gaze of Antonio's was burning itself into his brain.

Hastily, he moved back a few steps, trying to ignore the way the busker's eyes followed him as he went. What was that bastard's problem, anyway? All that staring was starting to make him nervous.

"_With love, from me, to you…_" Antonio paused.

"_To you…_

_To you…_

_To you,_" he finished, ending the song with a flurry of rather unnecessary improvised chords before turning to Lovino.

"It's nice to see you again," he remarked. Lovino snorted.

"I only listened because it was a Beatles song," he said dismissively. "You're not that great."

"Well, I'm glad you think I did a good job," replied Antonio blissfully.

"Did you listen to a word of what I just said?"

"Sure! You wouldn't have listened to me if you thought I was butchering the song, would you?" Antonio answered, leaning over his guitar case and scooping out his pitifully small pile of coins. Lovino gritted his teeth, and Antonio glanced at him a little concernedly. "What's wrong?" Lovino shook his head.

"Nothing. Goodbye," he said abruptly, turning away. A tanned hand caught his arm, and he stopped for a moment, glancing back as Antonio smiled, green eyes twinkling.

"Are you always in such a bad mood?" he asked. Lovino slapped the hand away.

"Only around bastards like you!" he hissed. Antonio drew back, a slight flicker of hurt entering his eyes.

"Oh…" he replied, shoulders drooping a little as he closed the last clip on his guitar case and swung it over his shoulder. "It's just… I was going to ask if you wanted to come see me play tonight night… I'm going to be performing at the Champagne Slinky with a couple of my friends. I figured you'd be interested, since you seem to like my singing."

"The Champagne Slinky?" repeated Lovino, raising an eyebrow. "Where the hell is that?" Instantly, Antonio's face brightened up.

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a maybe," replied Lovino grudgingly. Normally, he'd have responded with a flat no, but it was difficult to do that when the person he was trying to refuse happened to be imitating a sad, expectant puppy.

"Great!" blabbered Antonio, oblivious to Lovino's reluctance. "It's a restaurant on Ruth Street- here, I'll write down the directions." He quickly pulled a piece of paper and pen out of his guitar case and scribbled down an address before handing the sheet of paper to Lovino. "I'll see you there, then! …Um, if you show up, that is."

"Yeah, whatever," Lovino muttered, taking a few steps away.

"Hey, Lovino!" For what he swore would be the final time that day, the Italian stopped in his tracks. Antonio's grin broadened.

"Goodbye," he said, raising a hand to wave. Lovino rolled his eyes and continued walking, ignoring the gesture as he escaped the clearly deranged busker.

Almost unconsciously, he pocketed the slip of paper. He didn't plan on visiting some random restaurant just to hear the crazy bastard sing, but there couldn't be any harm in keeping the address. If nothing else, he would know how to avoid the place in future.

If nothing else, today had given him something to think about.

* * *

><p><strong>Name Guide (thanks for the reminder, Silver FoxWolf)<strong>

Jia Long (Wang) = Hong Kong

Emil (Steilsson) = Iceland

Elisabeta (Hedervary) = Hungary

Feliks (Lukasiewicz) = Poland


	5. Defeat

**Legato**

A/N – Heheh, sorry this is late. I've kind of been lacking inspiration for the past week or so… Still, I only missed my deadline by two days. That would still be fine if this was original fiction and I was being a proper real author, right? Right?

…Eheh. I really should try to meet my deadlines more.

_Warnings: A few characters sort of act like jerks in this chapter. I don't hate them, and I'm not trying to demonise them, but people will probably continue to be assholes for the duration of this story or there will be no plot. Also, swearing. Quite a lot of it. Sorry. Oh, and iffy writing is iffy. But I can spell!_

**Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to me, .**

**Chapter V – Defeat**

The late afternoon sunlight glinted off Gilbert's silver hair as he wandered down the neat suburban street, hands tucked in the pockets of his fashionably baggy jeans, red eyes cynically appraising his surroundings. His gaze alighted on a small house with a dark blue roof, and he smirked slightly, moving towards the door. Of all the houses on the street, this one was the most quaint and cuddly; it stood to reason that the stupid aristocrat and his crazy girlfriend would choose to live there.

Without another moment's hesitation, Gilbert marched up the garden path and loudly pounded his fist against the front door.

"Oi! Roddy! Bet!" he shouted. "Let me in!" There was a murmur of exasperated voices inside, and a set of footsteps padded up to the doorway.

"No," replied Roderich's voice shortly. There was another set of lighter footsteps by the first, and Elisabeta's voice chimed in irritably.

"Go away, Gilbert."

"Now is that any way to greet an old friend?" sneered Gilbert, leaning against the door casually. "I'm hurt, Betsy. Hurt and offended. Hurt, offended and shattered. Hurt, offended, shattered and-"

"Fuck off."

"Congratulations on your engagement, by the way," Gilbert added offhandedly. "I was going to bring you both a present, but since you've decided you don't like me any more-"

"If it's another one of your crotch cloths, then I'm sure we can live without it."

"Lizzie, you're being a bitch again," Gilbert whined. "Roddy, tell your girlfriend she's being a bitch."

"Gilbert, please stop loitering around my house. Elisa… just ignore him. He'll have to leave soon enough if we don't pay any attention to him."

"And I love you too, Roddy. Thanks."

"Just go away," retorted Roderich. Gilbert could hear the pianist sigh and move away from the door, and grinned.

"Hey, Liz, are you still there?"

"You have five seconds to get away from my house."

"Why are you being so fucking hostile? What did I do?"

"You know perfectly well what you did," snarled Elisabeta. "Unless you've managed to completely replace your memory with a warm, beer-tinted haze, you should know better than to come back here."

"Touché," muttered Gilbert. "So you're still angry about that?"

"Yes. I am still angry about that." muttered Elisabeta through gritted teeth.

"That's too bad," replied Gilbert with a shrug. "I guess some people just can't take my awesomeness. Auf Wiedersehen, bitches." He waved to the door and began to saunter down the path, supremely unperturbed by his less-than-warm reception. He had other things to do, anyway. Awesome things, things that didn't involve that stuck-up couple in any way.

It was their loss.

It was a splendid apartment, a sleek, stylish amalgamation of deep, royal blue accents and white, cloud-like carpet, gazing out over the city skyline via a broad balcony lined with pot plants. Night didn't fall until late during the summer, but by now it had taken hold, and the room was drenched in city lights, like thousands of tiny stars scattered across the horizon. There was light inside the room too; a lamp sat by the couch, where a young man sat, his thick, sandy eyebrows furrowed slightly as he read over the letter in his hands.

_Dear Arthur,_

_Words cannot describe how sorry I am to be writing this right now._

"Bollocks," muttered the man, shaking a strand of unruly blonde hair out of his green eyes.

_I would say that I am truly sorry for breaking your unicorn, but the truth is, I'm not. It wasn't my fault. You were the one who got drunk and pushed me into the wall, and you shouldn't have gotten angry at me when it went wrong._

_However, I will admit that I am sorry for some things. I'm sorry that every conversation we have turns into an argument. I'm sorry that I haven't yet managed to get within a metre of you without being mauled. I'm sorry that after knowing you for my _entire life_, and dating you for God-knows-how-long, I still haven't figured out that deciding to fall in love with you was the stupidest decision I've ever made._

_Normally this is the part where I should be coming back. Normally this is the part where we both pretend we're sorry for fighting over something ridiculous, and then everything becomes fine for maybe an hour, and I start to wonder if I was being melodramatic when I said that I never want to see your stupid face again. Particularly those disgusting eyebrows._

_But lately I've been thinking, and it's occurred to me that I'm not being melodramatic. I love you, but I'm tired of having to fight tooth and nail to show you that, and you seem to be tired too. So I'm not coming home today, and I don't think I ever will._

_Considering the fact that you tell me just how much you hate me at least once a week, I doubt you'll be shattered by this news. Considering the fact that I always say I hate you just as much, I suppose I shouldn't be torn up either._

"Like you would be," Arthur muttered, green eyes burning. "Good riddance to bad rubbish, that's what I say."

_Goodbye, mon cheri._

"Do you still think I don't know what that fucking means?" retorted Arthur to the unresponsive piece of paper. "Don't call me that any more, you wanker! You don't deserve to call me that any more!"

_Yours sincerely,_

_Francis._

Arthur stared at the letter for a minute, before very quickly tearing it in half.

"Fuck. You," he ranted venomously, tearing the pieces of the letter into smaller and smaller chunks. "Wanker. Dickhead. I hope you go die naked in a hole with homeless cats pointing and laughing at you. I bet you'd love that. Pervert!" He threw the remainders of the letter to the ground and began to stomp on them.

_Just like him to break up with me in a letter. Just like him to stop me from being able to tell him how much I fucking hate him for that._

Arthur stormed over to the kitchen bench, reaching for his mobile phone with every intention of calling Francis to relay this thought to him, before stopping. In his current state of mind, he'd be rather liable to throw the phone across the room and break it, which wasn't really something he wanted. Instead, he stuffed the phone into the pocket of his jeans, and picked up his house keys, stomping over to the door and throwing it open. A few moments of fumbling with the lock later and Arthur was off, heading down the hall like a human thundercloud.

He didn't have a particularly clear idea where he was going or what he was going to do when he got there, but he assumed that he would probably be quite drunk by the time he left.

It was common knowledge that Friday night was movie night at the Oxenstierna household, a magical and much-anticipated event that involved much in the way of pillow fights, food consumption, shouting and insomnia, but very little in the way of actual movie-watching.

Tonight was no different. The first apparent victor in the battle for the coveted seat in the centre of the couch appeared to be Peter. Blue eyes wide with mischievous glee, the twelve-year-old had managed to scramble up into the heavenly spot while his older companions duelled nearby. However, his triumph was short-lived; within seconds, Simon had noticed the seat being commandeered, and had swept the protesting boy off the couch, depositing him gently on the ground and making a break for the seat himself. As soon as he did so, though, a hand reached up to his immaculately-spiked hair and shoved him out of the way as Lukas made his attempt at conquest, blue eyes blazing in a rather scary display of concentration. There was a muffled squeak from nearby as Raivis dove out of the way, violet eyes wide with fear as he scuttled to the edge of the couch, where Eduard stood passively watching the brawl.

Emil, meanwhile, slid from one end of the couch to the other, attempting to shoulder-barge Lukas out of the way with absolutely no success. For a moment, it appeared that Lukas had managed to achieve victory; then a pair of strong arms gently pushed him out of the way as Berwald sat down. There was a moment of defeated silence, before Timo slid into the seat beside Berwald, tapping the taller man's shoulder a little timidly until he moved to the edge of the couch. Instantly, all hell broke loose once more as the group unsuccessfully launched a combined attack on the unassuming man, futilely attempting to push him off the couch. After about five minutes of this, it became clear that Peter was the only one who could really be bothered continuing with this battle, and the others flopped into secondary places on or around the couch, gazing at the screen as Berwald tapped the remote. A title screen appeared, followed shortly by the DVD menu; by now, Peter had already lost interest and was cheerfully informing Raivis of the wonderful things that could be accomplished via the use of a robot spider with helicopter legs.

Five minutes into the movie, and Lukas was already poking holes in the plot; an exercise that fascinated Simon, who began to congratulate his roommate on his amazing capacity for nitpicking. A few moments later, and Lukas' exasperation and scepticism began to direct itself towards Simon, who remained completely unperturbed.

Half an hour into the film, and both Emil and Eduard had given up on actually watching the movie, instead choosing to sit talking quietly and watching the chaos going on around them. Timo had the dubious honour of being the only one left watching the movie, while Berwald narrowly missed out on the prize by letting his eyes drift to Timo.

Sooner or later, though, all thoughts of watching the movie were forgotten as Peter hit Raivis over the head with a pillow, setting off a chain reaction that led to an all-out war between the eight individuals huddled around the television. Feathers flew around the room and minor injuries were sustained by all parties as the battle raged, finally petering out in a wave of laughter that spread throughout the group. A conversation was struck up, and began to meander through a range of topics.

It was a strange family that they had, but a family nonetheless. Only three members of the so-called "family" actually lived in the household, and none of them were related by blood; Berwald, Simon and Lukas had become roommates and unlikely friends through a series of odd circumstances, and had ended up unusually attached to one another. This friendship had led to Berwald's friend-and-sort-of-maybe-lover Timo becoming introduced to the group, and a few weeks later Lukas' cousin Emil joined the growing circle. For a while, it had only been those five; but then Timo had brought his friend Eduard to one of their movie nights, and Eduard's brother Raivis had followed soon after; at the same time, Berwald and Timo had taken on the task of babysitting young Peter on a regular basis, which led to the boy gaining the honour of being the youngest member of their cosy little clan.

And, as far as Peter was concerned, that meant chocolate bars, movie nights and the constant presence of people willing to acknowledge him. He loved spending time with Berwald and the others; he loved talking Raivis' ears off every other minute, he loved battling Simon for the coveted honour of being the loudest person in the room, and he loved having seven older brothers who were always willing to be around him.

It wasn't like being at home, where Arthur would fight with Francis constantly and get angry at Peter for it. At home, Peter had to stay quiet, because his older brother was constantly hung-over and less than a week away from his latest deadline. He had to keep out of Francis' way, because Francis was kind of scary and didn't really seem to like Peter much. As far as Peter was concerned, this was his home now; not the cold, empty apartment where he Arthur and Francis lived, but the chaotic pile of sleeping bags and bodies that he returned to every Friday night.

And if this was home and the people around him were his family, then Peter was most definitely a family man in the making.

**Names:**

Arthur (Kirkland) = England/Britain/UK (this will never cease to confuse me)

Peter (Kirkland) = Sealand

Simon (Densen) = Denmark

Lukas (Bondevik) = Norway

Raivis (Galante) = Latvia

Eduard (von Bock) = Estonia

Berwald (Oxenstierna) = Sweden

Timo (Vainamoinen) = Finland

…Yeah, I know my spelling is basically screwed up for Elisabeta, Feliks and Timo's names, but I can't be bothered going into symbol mode every time I want to write a name. ANGLICISATION, HUZZAH~! I'm sorry… ._.


	6. Possibilities

**Legato**

A/N – This is late. Like, really really late. I'm sorry. I've been swamped with a lot of stuff, and this chapter was really difficult to write. I've just realised that if I don't want the story to go on forever, I'll probably have to make the chapters longer…

Anyway, here it is. I hope you enjoy it. I'm sorry it took such a ridiculously long time.

Warnings: Um… Nothing that you shouldn't know already, but yeah. Guys get cuddly with each other. Also, flu. Also, Luxembourg. If anyone is offended by Luxembourg in any capacity, then it might be best to skip this chapter.

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and the song "Unchain my Heart" both belong to people who are not me, since I do not yet own the universe. I'm working on it, though. Give me time.**

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><p><strong>Chapter VI - Possibilities<strong>

The Champagne Slinky was doing a roaring trade that night. The loud chatter of voices filled the little pub as a fifties-style jukebox pumped out music from the corner of the room. Near the bar, leaning against a makeshift stage (really just a small platform on wheels) with a weary smile, Francis stood sipping at a glass of wine.

"Is it nearly time for us to perform yet?" he asked Antonio, who was walking quickly by, a tray of drinks balanced on his hands.

"Just a few more orders and I'll be ready to go," he replied a little distractedly. "Where's Gilbert?"

"I don't know. He should be here by now." Antonio shrugged.

"I guess he'll turn up soon, then. Keep an eye out for him."

"Of course." With that, Antonio wound his way back through the crowd, eyes scanning the room in the vague hope that he would see Lovino there. Sad as it was, Lovino was probably the closest thing he had to a proper fan right now; he was rather looking forward to seeing him watch the performance. That was, if he actually turned up.

He would. Antonio was sure of it.

As the last order was delivered to the expectant patrons, the front door to the Slinky swung open, and a tall figure walked into the pub, silver hair gleaming from under a black fedora, shirt still somewhat creased under his suit. Strolling over Antonio with a broad smirk, he twirled a cane in his hands expertly.

"Never fear, the awesome is here! I brought my pimp hand and my god-like singing voice. I am ready to rock."

"Sweet!" replied Antonio with a smile. "Give me one second. I'm just about ready to go on stage." He moved back over to the side of the stage, and Francis raised an eyebrow.

"Are you finished?" Antonio nodded, and Francis pulled a tie and suit jacket from the surface of the stage, looping the former around his friend's neck and deftly tying it with a smile. As Antonio shrugged into the jacket, Francis pulled two fedoras from the stage, placing one atop his own waves of soft blonde hair, and cramming the other onto Antonio's head. Seeing that his two companions were finally ready, Gilbert jumped up to the back of the stage, nodding to the old man who sat at a piano in the corner of the bar. The noise from the jukebox dimmed before fading into nothing, and the murmurs throughout the room grew quieter too. There was a quick scuffling sound as the three men claimed their places on the stage.

A moment of silence, followed by a deep chord from the piano. A light bloomed across the stage as Gilbert spun around from his spot at the left hand side of the stage, tipping his hat across his face as he belted out the first line of the lyrics.

"_Unchain my heart,_

_Baby, let me be…_" Francis, too, spun around on the right, moving towards the front of the stage.

"'_Cos you don't care,_

_Now please…_" With a flurry of piano chords, Antonio spun smoothly, stepping towards the front of the stage with deft grace as he sung his own line.

"_Set me…_

_Free._" The song began to pick up, and the three friends manoeuvred their way across the stage, voices intertwining and bouncing off each other as they continued the song. Near the door, a head of silky blonde curls peeked around the door as Matthew watched the performers with rapt attention. Emma, making her way back into the kitchen with a pile of used plates, smiled at the boy.

"Told you they were good," she murmured, before blinking as the mobile phone hidden in her back pocket began to beep. With a frown, she put the tray on the bench and clapped a hand over one ear, raising the phone to the other.

"Hello?" After a moment, she paused, frown deepening. "Lars? You know I'm working right now- but he- understood. I'll be there right away. See you." She flipped the phone shut and turned to Matthew. "My little brother's sick. I need to go help look after him. Will you be all right here?"

"It's fine," murmured Matthew, poking his head back inside the kitchen somewhat reluctantly. "I should get back to work anyway, I guess…"

"Sorry about this," murmured Emma, moving towards the door. "I probably won't be able to come back at all tonight. He's really not well."

"It's all right," Matthew repeated, scurrying over to the oven as the song continued. With a smile, Emma made her way out of the building, just as the song ended in a storm of applause and cheers.

"Thank you, thank you… Once again, we are the Bad Touch Trio."

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><p>Anyone who happened to be wandering the streets of the city at that moment might come across a pair of young men strolling down the road, one skipping slightly ahead of the other, a curl of reddish-brown hair bobbing at the side of his face as he glanced in the windows of the shops they passed. His companion, a tall, muscular man with slicked-back blonde hair and a permanently exasperated expression, tugged him away from the window of a jewellery store, trying to keep him going in one direction.<p>

"Feliciano. Come on. We'll be late for the movie."Feliciano glanced up at his companion, amber eyes slightly puzzled.

"The movie? What movie?" he asked vaguely. The man sighed, and placed a palm to his forehead.

"The one we were going to _watch_, Feliciano. The whole reason that we are here tonight." His companion grinned.

"Ve… Oh, right! I'd almost forgotten about that!" he replied, bounding over to the window of a music store. "Hey, Ludwig, look! A ukulele!"

"Feli, we don't really have time-"

"Being late isn't that bad, is it? I mean, this way I can talk to you for longer. You can't talk in movies."

"That's because that isn't really the point of a movie." Feliciano tilted his head slightly, before scurrying back over to Ludwig, looping the taller man's arm around his waist and leaning against his side.

"What _is_ the point of a movie, then, Ludwig?" he asked. The blonde man hesitated a little before answering.

"I'm told that the point of a movie is to get closer to the person that you like… It's a good thing to do on a date, because it gives you something to talk about afterwards."

"Can't you talk to me anyway?" asked Feliciano, a little puzzled. Ludwig flushed.

"It's just… easier if I have something I know I can talk about."

"What if the movie's boring?"

"Then…" Ludwig paused. "Then I don't know," he admitted. Feliciano shrugged.

"I guess if that happens, I could always take you to meet my family," he offered. Ludwig stopped in his tracks, turning to glance down at his companion.

"Meet… your family?" he repeated. Feliciano nodded.

"Grandpa said he wanted to meet you, and I think Lovino does too."

"Isn't it a bit early for that?" Ludwig asked, the tiniest note of hesitation entering his voice. "I mean… We've only been together for a few weeks, and we haven't even… This just seems to be a little early."

"Ve? If you don't want to meet them, then that's OK-"

"No, I do!" replied Ludwig hastily. "I just – if it's all right by you… I'll be there. When do you want me to meet them?"

"Next Friday, maybe?" suggested Feliciano. "You can come over for dinner. We'll make pasta for you!" A faint smile crossed Ludwig's face.

"I'd like that."

"Great! I'll tell them when I get home!" Feliciano replied, beginning to walk a little faster down the street with Ludwig in tow.

It might have seemed a little strange to Ludwig some time ago, to be the one following the scatterbrained artist. The taller man seemed hopelessly out of his depth right now, swept up in Feliciano's wake, struggling just to keep up with his exuberant partner. But it was a good kind of helplessness, the very best kind, and the happiness that seemed to radiate from each of the young men's faces at that moment must have been clear to any stranger passing by. It wasn't quite love yet, and Ludwig doubted he'd ever have the courage to even think that word to himself. No, it wasn't _quite_ love, but it was definitely something, and whatever it was made him feel somehow better about following Feliciano.

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><p>Lars Janssen had always been neat.<p>

It wasn't exactly a deeply hidden character trait of his; anyone looking at his tiny suburban house, surrounded by its garden of pristine tulips would be able to guess that, even without glancing at the man himself. It was as if he wanted to control every tiny detail of his life, keep it clean and orderly and make it look exactly the way he wanted it to.

Emma had never been sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, she supposed it was nice having a brother who was in such complete control of his life. On the other, that same micro-management that pervaded every aspect of his world also extended to his family, and Lars often seemed to find the cheerful waitress he called his sister to be somewhat lacking.

Smoothing down the front of her blouse carefully, Emma raised a hand to knock on the plain, securely locked front door. There were a few moments of silence, followed by the sound of steady footsteps; straight after that, the mechanical beat of locks clicking open emanated from the inside of the house, and Emma was greeted by a pair of dull green eyes beneath a mane of meticulously spiked sandy hair.

"Come in," said Lars shortly, gesturing to the inside of the house. With a smile, Emma made her way inside.

"How is he?"

"Not well."

Emma tutted quietly, following her brother as he led her through the house. "I suppose that's why you called me, though, isn't it?"

"Naturally," replied Lars, abruptly turning to a door nearby and pulling it open. Inside, on a bed covered with a plain white doona, a boy of about fifteen lay sleeping. Yann Janssen, the youngest of the three siblings, did not generally get sick. However, on this particular occasion, he had managed to get decidedly and worryingly ill. His normally carefully-attended waves of long, sandy hair were lying limp and greasy on his pillow, and his ordinarily elegant form instead twitched slightly to and fro as he slept fitfully.

"Do you have any idea what's wrong?" Emma asked in a whisper, turning to Lars, who folded his arms and shook his head.

"Apparently it's a bad case of the flu. I just needed someone who knows how to deal with him around. He never listens to me."

"Have you two been fighting again?"

"We never stop," replied Lars flatly. "I want you to stay here at least until morning, so that you can talk to him." Unwittingly, a frown crossed Emma's ordinarily sunny features. As usual, something in her brother's tone was off; irritating her in a way she could not quite put into words. He never asked, but always commanded, and tonight appeared to be no different.

Then again, tonight his request was reasonable enough.

"I'll stay," Emma replied flatly. "Just until tomorrow, though. I'll be needed back at the Slinky before long."

Caving once again to her brother's wishes wasn't really Emma's idea of fun, but it was only one night, after all.

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><p>By this point, it would be quite evident even to the untrained observer that Arthur was pissed.<p>

He wasn't just _angry_, although the fact that he was swearing loudly at a lamp-post may have given that impression. No, he was pissed in the other sense of the word; sloshed, drunk, under the influence and highly inebriated.

Arthur liked being drunk. It was a great way to calm down, get rid of all those pesky thoughts that cluttered his mind and all that useless information regarding smug Frenchmen, social conventions and the way back home. Perhaps it wasn't the most dignified state, but usually when he began to drink he had already thrown himself past the point of caring about his dignity.

Which probably explained rather well why he was in his current situation.

"Fuck you," he told the lamp-post in a firm, if rather slurred tone. "Fuck you and your little dog too, wanker. I didn't bloody ask you, did I, you little shithead? I bet you think Francis was right too. Slimy fucking frog. Frog lamp-post. Frog-post." He paused for effect, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to extract another witticism from his drink-clouded mind. "Fuck you!" he shouted finally, landing a resounding kick on the undeserving lamp-post's side. Somewhere behind Arthur, the sound of a throat being cleared caught his attention.

"Are you OK, dude? You're kind of kicking a lamp-post. I don't think that's healthy." Arthur turned, eyes valiantly attempting to focus on the speaker.

It was a young, tall man, perhaps a few years younger than Arthur himself; his blonde hair sported a single stray lock that stuck stubbornly upwards, and his blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses seemed more than a little concerned. As he looked at Arthur's face, his eyes widened in shocked recognition.

"_Arthur-?_"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" shouted Arthur, his hands balling into fists as he swayed on his feet. "Just like you, too, isn't it? You couldn't have come back some other time. You wouldn't have wanted to come back some other time because you were too bloody busy, weren't you?"

"Hey, it's not my fault I-"

"Yes it bloody well is!" retorted Arthur, leaning against the lamp-post that had previously been his mortal enemy for support. The other man stood still for a moment, before moving to loop an arm around Arthur's shoulders.

"I'd better get you home before you do something stupid."

"You're the stupid one! Let go of me!" protested Arthur, sagging against the bespectacled man's side. "I bet they made up an entirely new word for stupid, just for you. Alfron. Short for Alfred the moron, which is what you are." Alfred laughed.

"I'm not the one swearing at a lamp-post, dude. Man, I should have gotten pictures of that. That would have been hilarious."

"Fuck you!"

"You've said that already. Are you going to just keep saying that? Because that could get old really fast."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home. You should be thanking me for this, I probably just saved you from getting mugged or something."

"You probably are going to mug me."

"Hey, not cool! I'm trying to help you here!"

Arthur murmured something incoherent in response before lapsing into a silence interrupted by the occasional hiccup, stumbling heavily as he was half-carried to the end of the street, where a tiny, beat-up blue car waited. With a mumbled profanity, Arthur managed to pull open the door on the passenger side and clamber into the car, almost automatically. Both men remained silent as Alfred drove.

Even if Alfred was the kind of person to take a great deal of interest in his own future, he would never have predicted that he might have been escorting a drunken Arthur back to his house that night. It had been such a long time, and he had never truly expected to meet the self-styled "gentleman" again, particularly in such… odd circumstances. Alfred was a man of action rather than thought, and until he had gotten into his car, the thought had not once occurred to him that bringing Arthur back to his house like this could be anything other than the right thing. From Alfred's point of view, it was obvious that the other man needed to be looked after, but he knew that Arthur would not accept that argument.

The next morning was definitely going to be interesting.

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><p><strong>Names:<strong>

Ludwig Beilschmidt – Germany

Lars Janssen – Netherlands

Yann Janssen - Luxembourg


	7. First Dances

**Legato**

A/N – Using French terms of endearment makes me feel embarrassed even when I'm writing for a fictional character. Anyway, regardless, if you are reading this then I have managed to struggle through my embarrassment to post this chapter. So yeah. The usual stuff; hope you all like it, reviews make me feel loved and special, I'm still alive and I might keep updating this fic.

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, Russia would wear an ushanka.**

**Chapter VII – First Dances**

Ivan made his way down the dark, empty street, the long scarf that he wore whenever he was out of his work clothes ruffling slightly in the faint breeze that tugged at the very edges of his enormous coat. It was late; far too late to be going out, and he knew that Natalia would have his hide if she caught him. But tonight was more important than avoiding his foster sister's wrath; tonight, he was finally going to start fixing _everything_.

The young man's violet eyes lit up at that thought, his wide mouth curling up in a blissful smile as he reached his destination. A tall, ramshackle building tucked away within the street, lights glowing gently from the windows; yes, this was the place. His memory had served him well.

Countless times, he had followed the brown-haired man to this place, never daring to actually speak to him. It was about the time that he would be finishing his work and leaving; about the time that Ivan would ordinarily hide himself, watching with fascinated curiosity as his quarry disappeared into the night.

But tonight things would be different. Tonight, he would find out whatever secret it was that made the brown-haired man so interesting, take that secret and keep it for himself. Something in his eyes made Ivan absolutely positive that the brown-haired man would be able to solve all of his problems; that he was somehow more fairy than man, and that if only he could capture him for a moment, his wishes would be granted.

The front door swung open; with a flurry of voices and a hurried "goodbye," the very same man that Ivan had been following this whole time stepped out into the street, turning to face Ivan, who by now stood absolutely motionless, eyes boring into his face as the smile remained, unmoving. For the briefest of moments, a slightly panicked look flickered across the brown-haired man's face, but he quickly covered it up with a friendly, accommodating smile.

"Can I help you?" he asked. For a moment, Ivan stood utterly still and silent, trying to think of an answer to the question. He had no doubt that the man could help him, but he didn't have any idea _how_ he was supposed to do so. After a moment of silence that seemed to stretch out forever, the man cleared his throat, moving to brush past Ivan.

"I- I'm sorry for disturbing you," he said quickly. Almost automatically, Ivan's hand reached out, his fingers latching onto the man's shoulder. With a quiet, terrified yelp, the man stopped, and Ivan, conscious that he had probably hurt him, loosened his grip slightly.

"Yes," he said finally. The man blinked, turning back slightly to face Ivan.

"Yes?"

"Yes, you can help me," Ivan repeated. The man's green eyes widened slightly as he tried to process the information.

"What- what did you need help with?" he asked hesitantly. Ivan's smile widened. He had been right about the brown-haired man. He was as kind as he appeared to be.

"I'm not sure yet," Ivan replied, before pausing. "Where are you going?" The man blinked, taken aback by the question.

"I'm… going home," he said at last.

"Why?"

"Because it's late, I guess…" the man responded, gently trying to tug Ivan's hand off his shoulder. Eyes narrowing, Ivan strengthened his grip slightly, and the man stopped, face turning slightly pale.

"What's your name?" he asked abruptly. The man swallowed, eyes flickering slightly to the side before he answered.

"Tolys. I'm Tolys," he said. Ivan tilted his head to the side slightly, his smile still firmly in place.

"That's a nice name," he remarked, before pausing. "If I let go of your shoulder, will you run away?"

"N-No-"

"Ah, good." In an instant, Ivan's grip on Tolys' shoulder had subsided, and the same hand was extended before him.

"It's nice to meet you, Tolys," he continued. "My name's Ivan." For a moment, Tolys looked blankly between the hand and Ivan's face, unsure how to respond. Again, Ivan's eyes narrowed.

"I'm told it's polite to shake hands," he informed the other man, a slight edge to his tone. Hastily, Tolys extended his own hand, tapping it against Ivan's before finding it bound in a vice-like grip. Slowly, Ivan raised and then lowered the trapped hand, before letting go. There was a moment of silence as he scrutinised his new friend's face; the moment extended, until Tolys took a tiny step backwards.

"I- Can I go?" Without speaking again, Ivan nodded reluctantly. He would have to return home himself soon, in case Natalia noticed his absence; he didn't want to leave now that he had just introduced himself to the man who could almost certainly solve anything, but he had no other choice. A barely disguised look of relief sinking into his features, Tolys turned away and began to walk hastily away. Ivan watched, waiting until he was out of sight, before slowly turning to leave himself.

His footsteps beat against the concrete of the pavement, their rhythm irregular as he sped up and slowed down, pace matching the ebb and flow of his thoughts. The first step of his plan had been completed; now it was only a matter of time before everything was fixed. Natalia would stop acting so strangely, and everyone he loved would stay with him forever. He'd have enough food to eat every day, and he would be able to buy a house with a big garden full of sunflowers…

Tolys would stay with him too, and they'd make friends with other people and bring them all to live in the house as one big family. They might fight a lot, but Ivan didn't mind. He was the head of the house, so he'd be able to make them go quiet if he just wanted to sit in the sun that day.

Ivan still didn't know exactly how he was going to make that dream come true, but he knew that he needed Tolys to make it happen. Watching the young man walk past his workplace every day had gradually convinced him that he had some sort of magical power to make things better.

A smile curled at the corner of Ivan's lips, and he began to hum softly as he made his way down the street.

Yes, it was all going to be fine from now on.

Matthew ran a weary hand through his silky blonde curls, violet eyes going over the room once more as he searched for any messy spots he might have missed. There were none; the Slinky was spotless, with the only sign that it had been alive at all that night given by the ancient jukebox, which still stood pumping out music in the corner of the room. Working at the Slinky had been a lot more chaotic that night without Emma around, but Francis had filled in for her, doing her usual job of mixing cooking with waiting on tables. Despite appearing to be more suited to leisure than work, Francis had proved himself to be extremely capable, charming the patrons and managing to create meals that really could only be called works of culinary art.

As he often did, Gilbert had disappeared shortly after the performance, loudly announcing his exit as he swaggered out the door, managing to bowl over a youth trying to make his way into the Slinky he did so. After the albino's exit, the atmosphere of the Slinky gradually began to die down; people finished their meals and began to leave, and fewer and fewer walked through the door. By around eleven, the semi-café was empty of customers, leaving a mountain of cleaning to do. Some time past midnight, they were finished, and Tolys and Antonio began to head for home.

That left Matthew in the somewhat awkward position of having to actually deal with Francis, without the comforting barrier of cheerfulness that Emma ordinarily provided.

The aforementioned displaced landlord was currently in the process of draping himself across one of the chairs, wine glass held lightly in one hand, the red liquid rippling slightly as he slithered smoothly into place.

"We've done well tonight, have we not?" he asked, waving a hand to indicate the café. "I didn't expect all of this to be so tiring. I sincerely don't know how you can keep this up."

"It's… really not that hard…" murmured Matthew, hesitantly sliding his way into the chair opposite Francis, before pausing. "Thanks for helping, by the way!" he added hastily. "You really… didn't have to…" Francis shook his head, a soft curl flicking onto his cheek as he gave a small, amiable smile.

"It was interesting. It's been a long time since I've cooked so much in one night. I thought I had forgotten how much I enjoy it." Matthew blinked.

"You… enjoyed it?" he repeated, trying and failing magnificently to keep the note of surprise out of his voice. He hadn't pegged Francis as someone who would enjoy work of any kind, but here he was.

Francis chuckled slightly as he swirled the wine glass in his hand, deep blue eyes locking onto Matthew's own. "Of course I did. It's hard not to enjoy something when someone as lovely as yourself is around, no?" At that, Matthew blushed bright red, sinking into his chair a little with a small, mortified sound that might have been a protest. Francis continued to laugh, before placing the glass down on the table.

"There's no need to look so embarrassed. It was only a compliment."

Matthew ducked his head down again at that, trying to pretend that he wasn't acting like a child. It was strange. In general, people didn't seem to notice him; compliments were few and far between, as were conversations like this one.

He liked it this way. He liked that Francis had made an effort to talk to him, and that he actually seemed to be enjoying their conversation. True, it made him feel slightly uncomfortable at times, but-

The last song on the jukebox faded out, to be replaced with a new, much slower and softer song, the deep vocals crooning out across the room, serenading an invisible audience. Without missing a beat, Francis rose to his feet, gracefully extending a hand to Matthew.

"It would be a shame to waste such a lovely song, would it not?" he asked, smiling gently at his companion. "Will you dance with me, _mon cher?_" Matthew blinked, a little taken back as he glanced first at the hand, and then at Francis' face. It was the kind of song he would associate more with romance than anything; not the kind of song Matthew was used to dancing to at all, let alone with someone like Francis.

"Um- I-" he began to stutter, heat rising in his cheeks as he shook his head a little. He couldn't deal with the attention, couldn't deal with starting to think that someone like Francis actually seemed to be showing interest in him…

But Francis seemed sincere enough in his request, absurd as it was, and Matthew wasn't about to turn down the first person who'd ever asked him to dance. Quickly slipping his hand into Francis', he nodded.

"I'll dance with you," he finished. Francis smiled, placing a hand on his waist as he pulled him closer.

"Wonderful," he replied softly, placing one of his feet forward as he began to gently guide Matthew around in a circle. Matthew struggled to keep in time with the taller man's fluid steps, brow furrowed slightly as he concentrated, and Francis smiled.

"You're thinking about it too hard, _chaton_," he informed his partner, leaning in slightly. "All you need to do is follow my lead."

"Ah- um, OK," Matthew replied, relaxing a little. The two continued to turn in a faltering circle, their movements gradually growing more in sync with each other and the music as Francis guided the younger man through the steps. His blue eyes rested on Matthew's face, while Matthew himself glanced to and fro, eyes flickering from Francis' face to some vague spot above his shoulder and back again. At some point, he must have mastered the rhythm of the dance; as the last notes of the song began to fade, his footsteps drew to a smooth halt along with Francis'.

"Now, was that so hard?" murmured the taller man, leaning forward, his face just a hair's breadth away from Matthew's own. Matthew barely had a moment to breathe in sharply before Francis' lips brushed against his own.

"Thank you for the dance," Francis murmured as they parted, still close enough for Matthew to feel his words rather than hear them. Gently extricating himself from Francis' grip, the young man turned to stare bemusedly at his companion for a minute, before shaking his head and turning to quickly walk towards the stairwell, cheeks bright red.

Matthew wasn't the kind of person who got a lot of attention; he'd never had someone of either sex fall in love with him before, and he'd never truly been in love himself. Maybe if he'd allowed himself much time to speculate on what his first kiss would be like, he would have seen it going something like that in a perfect scenario, but…

Francis, for all his affection and charm, wasn't quite what Matthew wanted for himself. The man had just come out of a breakup and ended up sleeping on the couch in Matthew's house; he flirted with anything that moved, and despite the apparent importance of his previous relationship with Arthur, he seemed awfully too ready to do… whatever he was planning to do with Matthew.

But the kiss… It had sent shivers down Matthew's spine. Nobody had _ever_ noticed him like that before, especially not someone like Francis. Looking into those deep blue eyes had been terrifying, true, but it had also been electrifying.

Matthew wasn't sure whether he wanted to feel that way or not.

_Hey. You're up late._

The tiny box popped up on the edge of Kiku's screen, flashing as he saw the new message. Mousing over the box, he clicked to enlarge the message.

His dark eyes lit up a little with a curious gleam as he saw the words at the top of the new window: _Message from: Heracles Karpusi_. On anyone else, the change in expression would have been barely noticeable; in someone like Kiku, though, it was comparable to a full-blown smile. After pausing for a minute, the man leaned over his keyboard, silky black hair forming a curtain around his cheeks as he typed with a careful, regular pattern.

_I didn't expect to see you up this late either. Aren't you normally sleeping by now?_ There was a long pause as an image of a pen drifted across the box, indicating that Heracles was typing.

_One of my cats wanted to be fed, and I forgot to turn my computer off before I went to sleep._

_I see,_ Kiku typed back. A moment passed, and then Heracles' painfully slow typing began again.

_I was wondering if you were going to go to that festival next Saturday. I'd like to meet up with you there, if I can._ This time, it was Kiku's turn to pause, considering the options before beginning to type again.

_I'll see about it,_ he replied, the not-quite-smile appearing in his eyes again. It would be nice to see Heracles again; they lived on opposite sides of the city, so it wasn't often that Kiku got to meet him. Heracles was a close friend of Kiku's, and his very presence was enough to make the ambitious, uptight man relax enough to slow down and enjoy life a little. He supposed it wouldn't do if he spent too much time relaxing around Heracles, but it was nice to just forget about his work every so often and go to meet him. His answer to the invitation might have been somewhat roundabout, but he had already made up his mind that he was going to go.

After all, it was only one day.

_I guess I'll see you there, if you go,_ came the reply at last. There was a pause, followed by more typing. _I'm sleepy again, so I'll log off. Night, Kiku._ This time, the smile really did tug at Kiku's lips a little as he began to reply.

_Goodnight, Heracles._

**Characters Introduced in this Chapter:**

Kiku (Honda) – Japan

Heracles (Karpusi) - Greece


End file.
